


A List of My Fears (Like Loving You Always)

by orphan_account



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, is it angst or is it just really sad?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Without a Halo Bearer, the OCS quickly fell apart. Adriel was gone, and the evil had been vanquished from the earth, so the mission of The Order had been fulfilled, right? It should've felt that way, but Beatrice can't help feeling a weight on her chest when she reflects back on her past.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	A List of My Fears (Like Loving You Always)

**Author's Note:**

> I got this one out rather quickly, so excuse any weird pacing errors! Without further ado, buckle up, y'all.
> 
> (this was also very loosely inspired by the song Ava by Lets Eat Grandma, and the title is from the song Life by Ivy Sole)

It's been about a year and a half since Beatrice last saw Ava.

The Vatican mission took its toll on everyone, to say the least, but it hit Ava the hardest. Beatrice knows how much guilt Ava let pool up inside of her, and she should've known that she would run instead of opening up. She knew all too well how much of a burden Ava saw herself as, she had felt the same way only years before meeting her.

Without a Halo Bearer, the OCS quickly fell apart. Adriel was gone, and the evil had been vanquished from the earth, so the mission of The Order had been fulfilled, right? It should've felt that way, she should be glad that her crew single-handedly saved the world, but Beatrice can’t bear to think about her past life without the heaviness pressing down on her chest more than it already does.

She hadn’t left everything behind, though. She still talked with Camila nearly every day, and she lived down the block from the apartment Lilith and Mary shared. She was surrounded by her closest friends, and yet she's never felt so empty. She had tried to find fulfillment in God, going to church as often as she could, but it only helped temporarily. She accepted that there would be no permanent solution to how she was feeling, at least not for a long time.

She just wanted to hold Ava like she used to, to tell her it's okay, and that nobody blames her for what happened. That it wasn't her fault, that none of it was her fault and that everyone has forgiven her.

Beatrice stood alone on the balcony of her tiny downtown Madrid apartment, watching the sun disappear behind the tall buildings that surrounded her own. The hiss of the kettle in the kitchen brought her back to reality. After making her cup of tea, she settled into the most comfortable chair she owned and opened her book up to where the bookmark was tucked between its pages.

Only a few minutes passed before she heard her phone ring from inside her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw a familiar name and number on the screen, putting a small smile on her face. Her calls with Camila were always her favourite event of the day.

“Camila, hi, how are you? How’s the piano recitals coming along?” Camila had found happiness teaching piano lessons to children since The Order went defunct, and Beatrice finds bits of happiness in every story she tells about her job. Something about the pleasant normalcy and the joy it brings Camila helps Beatrice understand that there _is_ a life beyond what she trained to do.

“Bea…” Instead of her usual soft and cheerful tone, there was an apprehensive edge to her voice. She hadn’t heard that voice in years. There was an instant shift in Beatrice’s atmosphere. She knew something was up.

“Camila? What’s wrong?” She quickly sat up and resorted to pacing slowly around the room to quell the tension that overtook her entire body. When there wasn’t a response on the other end, she panicked slightly. “What happened? Tell me, please.”

“Bea, we found her.”  
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The flight to Heathrow went as smoothly as it could’ve gone. The prosthetic leg certainly didn’t help with going through security, though. It seems that every time she’s in an airport, there’s an officer who insists she’s hiding drugs or other contraband in there. But her experience so far hadn’t been too painful.

She thinks back to last night, when she got the news. She had learned that Camila was still in contact with Mother Superion, who had been taking it upon herself to track down Ava. She knew nothing about Ava’s state, who she was living with, or anything other than her location, for that matter. Beatrice was content with just seeing her, no matter what the situation may be. She just wanted closure.

With a deep sigh, Beatrice took her suitcase and walked over to get in line for a taxi, with the help of her cane for support. Not too long after she made her way there, a taxi pulled up, she piled her luggage into it, and she settled into the back seat.

“Euston Station, please.”

She thought back to the last time she was in London. The memories were blurry, which was likely a symptom of repressing them for a decade. She certainly didn’t miss the dreary weather or the hustle and bustle of it all, that she’s certain of, but there was something dark looming over her heart as she passed by buildings she remembers vaguely.

Beatrice’s parents still live in London. She would’ve gotten a much-too-formal message from them if they had moved, so she assumed they still lived at their estate in Kensington. They didn’t want anything to do with her, and she didn’t want anything to do with them. She was past trying to make amends, though the impulsive part of her brain was pushing her to go home since she was in the area. No, Beatrice decided, cringing internally, that would be too much. She came here with one task in mind and she wouldn’t let her mission be derailed.

The taxi pulled into the station. Despite not having been in London for years, she maneuvered around the station with the efficiency of a local. She had never traveled to Manchester alone before, so she spent a few minutes in front of the screens showing departures trying to figure out which train to take. The train to Picadilly Station was only a short walk away, so she set off in that direction. She knew it would be a two-hour-long trip, and she hoped to take a short nap to make up for the hours of lost sleep.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was quite a few more hours before Beatrice was able to check into her hotel for the night and finally collapse on a surprisingly comfortable bed. Well, first she does her regular check that she does when staying at a hotel: checking the locks, checking for bedbugs and any hidden cameras, and if there are any nasty surprises under the bed or behind the curtains.

When she’s completed all the checks on her list, she finally begins to relax and put away some of the items from her suitcase. The task was absent-minded enough for her thoughts to wander, thinking about how she would confront Ava after all this time. She could just go up to her door and knock on it, but that would be too forward. She could plan it so that they run into each other on the street, but that seems too public, and who knows how emotional it’ll be. Panic begins to seep in as she realizes she has to pick the lesser of two evils. There is no painless way to do this.

Or is there? She racks her brain for possibilities and manages to cobble together a vague plan that _might_ just work. She pulls out her journal from her suitcase, heads over to the desk, and rips a page out of the back of it. Sitting in the unsurprisingly uncomfortable office chair, she picks up the hotel provided pen. Her hand shakes with both anxiety and the hand tremors she’s gotten used to over the years. She places the pen to the paper and allows her words to flow freely. If she overshares or, heaven forbid, makes a typo, then that was a problem for Ava to deal with.

_Here goes nothing_

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Ava,_

_I understand why you ran. I truly do. I should’ve expected you to, but I had hoped for the best. We all did. I remember the night you left, Mary turned to me and told me that she was sure you’d be back, that this was just another one of your stunts from before, and God, I wish she had been right.  
That night at the Vatican changed all of us, but we don’t blame you for any of it. I don’t blame you for any of it. What you did may have been reckless, but it was completely warranted and it was probably the only chance we had to kill Adriel. I can still remember the blinding light, the shockwave, the collapse of the ceiling, and it gives me goosebumps just thinking of it. I had never felt so full of hope and utterly terrified at the same time.  
I’ve been doing physiotherapy for my leg and to regain my ability to write after the coma wiped my brain clear of most fine motor skills. I wish you had been around long enough to see me get my prosthetic leg, I’m sure you would’ve had so many terrible puns about it. I’ll show you how it works sometime if you’ll let me. It’s rather cool if I do say so myself.  
But in all seriousness, what happened that night was a tragedy, but I need you to know that I’ve never blamed you for a second. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I prepared for that mission, and even when I decided to join The Order. My life had always been on the line, and I came to terms with the fact I may die in my line of work long before I met you. Not one part of what happened was your fault, and I know you don’t believe that, but I hope my being here can help you realize that.  
I remember lying there, pinned under the rubble, and looking up to see you levitating, cloaked in pure energy and radiating power. It was then that I knew we had won, that all the training and the pain had been worth it. I barely felt the weight on my leg or the burning in my head when I realized what life could be after that. I was so excited to finally live a normal life with you, to travel the world, and to create new memories with you in them. I realized I could have a truly happy, domestic, and normal life. Or at least however normal life could be for an ex-nun and a woman with a divine relic in her back.  
I believe we can still have that life. After all this time, I still think of you every day without fail. Ava Silva, you made me feel alive. You showed me how to be carefree, how to enjoy things to the fullest, and how to be open about my emotions, and for that, I cannot thank you enough. But most importantly, you showed me that the way I love is holy, that who I am is beautiful. You showed me how to feel unbound and unburdened, and I felt finally myself. I truly do owe all that I am today to our time together.   
So, I have a proposal for you. I want to see you; take you out for dinner or coffee, or anywhere you want. I do not care what the situation is, I just need to see you. Just call or text me and we can set something up. I’m not in Manchester for too much longer, but I’m sure we can schedule something._

_Please, Ava, consider it. I miss you._

_-Beatrice_

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beatrice sat back, exhausted not only from travelling for the past 10 hours, but also from finally getting all her feelings out into a tangible form. She quickly scribbled her phone number at the bottom of the page before folding it up and leaving it on the desk. She could feel an awful migraine coming on, so she stood up to get the ibuprofen from her bag and made her way to the bathroom.

Those glass cups that the hotel provided were something she never trusted. There’s no way that room service had the time or effort to clean or replace each one of them for all the rooms in a hotel. She picked one up, swirled some water around in it before pouring it out and filling it up all the way.

She popped the small pill into her mouth and took a swig from her glass. Looking up at herself in the mirror, she realized she barely recognized the person looking back. She never spent too much time looking at herself, but in the past while she’s found it too burdensome of a task. What she sees is too unfamiliar. She used to be a refined beacon of strength and grace for those around her, someone who was looked up to and who could accomplish anything she put her mind to. But now all she sees is a lost woman, who has no clue of what her purpose is anymore, or why she can’t seem to move on. Who she once was is a ghost that haunts the empty part of her heart. Her fingertips graze over the scar that runs from the top of her forehead to just above her brow, the scar being a constant reminder of her past.

Realizing that she’s only making herself feel worse, she heads back to bed where she promptly passes out, with barely any time to process the magnitude of what she plans on doing in the morning.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Despite her best efforts to bundle up, the wind still chills Beatrice to her bones. She would be admiring the colours of fall all around her if she wasn’t feeling so uneasy. With the letter in hand, she checks her phone for the fourth time in five minutes to make sure she’s at the right address. Before her stands the left side of a semi-detached house, with the red brick a stark contrast to the perpetually grey sky. All she needs to do is walk through the metal gate, walk a few feet to the mailbox, and walk away. It’s an easy task, which is what her logical brain tells her, but she feels as if her feet have been encased in the concrete of the sidewalk.

She manages to put her movements on autopilot, slowly opening the metal gate and taking the first few steps. _You got this, you can do this. Only a few more feet. You got this._ All she can do is hype herself up as she climbs the small stone stairs and approaches the black mailbox at the side of the door. She contemplates just knocking on the door and getting it over with. Ripping it off like a bandage, or however the saying went. She immediately pushes away that thought; it would be too reckless and it would cause more pain than needed, she decides.

The hinges of the mailbox squeak as she lifts the lid, dropping the letter in with minimal hesitation. She turns away, planning on getting out of there with as much speed as she can muster. She’s only feet away from the threshold of the property before she hears a click and the creak of a door behind her.

Her heart drops.

“Beatrice...?”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you worry, I'll be making a sequel to this at some point


End file.
